Red Barn Ride: June 2020

"True friendship comes when the 

silence between two people

is comfortable."

David Tyson

As I head out on my bike this late morning, I think quite a bit about the ride I put on yesterday.  I was surprised that eight people showed though I know it is a lovely course with little traffic.  It is a long drive to the ride start for my friends from Louisville, but then there was nothing else on the schedule.  And some are close friends, friends whose company I enjoy and who must enjoy mine.  As the bike club re-opens from COVID, I suspect some captains and some riders will not return and others will wait to see how the rides go.  But most of us that ride will continue to ride because riding is about more than the bike. Riding is about the jokes, the surprises, the friendship, the beauty, the trials and tribulations, the triumphs, the sweat and the chills, and so much more. 

Today I have decided to ride to Borden and get a couple of tough climbs in, something I have been avoiding lately.  It does me no good to avoid the climbs because that is the only way to truly build strength.  It would be better to have others to climb with to push my speed a bit as I tend to be lazy, but it is what it is.   I think I am fortunate that the weather today is moderate.  Climbing is so much easier when it is not in the nineties where the heat brings the sweat that drips in the eyes causing them to burn as if they were on fire despite one's headband.  Over the years I have learned to carry an extra bandana for such moments and keep it handy, tucked in my shorts.  People have laughed at the "tumor" on my thigh, but it serves its purpose.  Today, however, I should not need it.  Thinking of this makes me giggle about a sweat band  that I bought at Texas Hell Week, a rubber "gutter" that went around my head.  The guys laughed.  They were right.  Not only did it not stop the sweat from getting in my eyes, it gave me a headache. 

Interestingly, perhaps even Freudian  or because I am lost in my own head, I miss the turn to Bartle's Knob, but this does not save me, it only adds miles as it is a dead end road.  I have never ridden down this way and it is a nice road, secluded with attractive homes.  One lady is out spraying the weeds in the ditch by the road.  I always hate riding by anyone spraying weed killer or pesticides because I suspect it is decidedly unhealthy.  I never know whether to try to hold my breath or breathe shallowly and rapidly to try to keep it from reaching deep in my lungs.  This time I hold my breath.  On the way back, I breath shallowly.  I am halfway up the road before recognizing my mistake and understanding that somehow I am not on the right road, but I ride to where it dead ends with no trespassing signs before turning around. 

Before you know it, I am passing Wiley's Chapel on the way up the first climb:  Bartle's Knob.  The climb is long and for one short moment, my Wahoo tells me the grade is 18 per cent, but since I am not hurrying not really painful.  I should be pushing myself to go faster, but instead just go at my own, slow, steady pace.  I think of how I used this hill and the next to help train for the hills in the Virginia 1000 K a few years ago.  It seems so long ago, and yet not.  Sometimes things are like that. 

I crest the hill and debate how to get to Borden. I know that Daisy Hill Road will take me to Borden, but I am pretty sure that Jackson Road also leads there and is the other hill I am looking for.  I am right.  I "thought" I was right, but I could as easily have been wrong.  When I turn onto Jackson, I tell myself if I am not descending within six miles, I will turn around.  But descending I am, and at quite a clip at one point.  I think yet again to myself that I need to get new brake pads in front. The back are fine, but the front definitely need replacement.  I think about what type of brakes I will get if I get a new bike.  So many of the new bikes have disc brakes.  The guys said it is overkill on a regular road bike, but the people that have them seem to like them.  Oh, well, it will be awhile before a new bike comes my way.  I remain glad I bought titanium.  It  lasts. In fact, the only thing new on it since I bought it in 2011 is chain, cassette, cables, bar tape, and saddle.  Oh, and one shifter, one that Steve Rice helped locate for me on line. Everything else is what came with the bike.  I did buy new wheels this year, but I have not yet put them on. 

That leads me to think of how I feel  like  I upset the bike shop by wanting high spoke count wheels.  I don't think he understands how I ride, that I may be one hundred miles out from my daughter or may run into gravel that I don't want to take the time to go around despite it being a road bike.  That bike has been on some pretty rough roads in its time.  "Why," I ask myself, "do I sometimes feel guilty getting what I want for myself when someone else thinks I should want something different but don't."  I have no answer for this.  Of course, as long as he makes money, it should not matter to the bike shop, but it either does or it is my imagination that it does.

Soon, I am sitting eating a small twist cone that seems pretty large but tastes pretty darned good.  I don't know how it will sit with the big climb up Jackson, but for now it is fine.  The biggest problem on the return is getting across the road.  Cars zoom and those that turn seem not to use turn signals, but finally I am across and ready to climb.  As I pass the elementary school, I giggle to myself remembering the look on the faces of the kids at recess when they realized that I was about to climb that huge hill on my bike a few years ago. 

Halfway up the steepest part of the climb, a bug flies into my open, gasping mouth and rather than being swallowed, it lodges in my throat.  I try to ride through it, but end up stopping and taking a few swigs all the while wondering if I will be able to turn the pedals and start back up or will have to walk. The road is wide enough to allow me to go sideways, much stronger because of the additional protein I just unwittingly downed, and finish the climb.  The grass alongside the road is still green despite the fact that we are starting to need rain.  Daisies, black eyed Susan, and lilies line the road in places. Later on, I see bales of hay lay waiting to be dragged to barns. Last year there was such a shortage of hay due to the drought. 

On the ride home I think about the company yesterday and find myself with a wide grin on my face.  I have blessed with many friends in my lifetime.  How much poorer would my life be without them?  How much richer are experiences when shared?  Sometimes we talk, usually we talk or at least I talk, but sometimes it is enough to ride in companionable silence.  It is nice to have friends like that.  It is nice to have friends that will drive quite a distance just to be with you and to share a course that you put together. I am truly blessed.  They listen at times when I feel they must think, "Will she never shut up?"  They bear with me at times when I have nothing to say but feel the warmth of their company.  Thanks to those that came.  It was a good ride.  And today is a good ride today.  Life is good despite COVID, at least at this point. 

Pope Lick Park Ride to the Ride

"Our creator would never have

made such lovely days, and given us

the deep hearts to enjoy them, above

and beyond all thought, unless we were

meant to be immortal." 

Nathaniel Hawthorne 

Yesterday was a beautiful day for February, warm and sunny, but I spent it hiking, so I was very glad to see a ride, or rides I suppose I should say, on the club schedule for Monday.  Even stepping out the door, it is unseasonably warm, and I think how nice it will be, despite our moderate winter, to have a break.  On a day like today, I can dream of spring and believe it will be here soon.  With days like today, I don't mourn the loss of Texas Hell Week in March quite so deeply.

I do contemplate just riding from home knowing it will save time and I will cover more ground, but I decide that today is not a solitary day.  Today is the kind of day where you want to be with people who love bicycling as much as you do, who share the passion.  

On the drive I worry about my ability to keep up.  I have become so accustomed to having a GPS file to guide me that I have become rather dependent upon it, but I know that if I get dropped, despite not having a route, I can use my GPS to find my way back to the car.  I just decide not to overly stress about it.  Despite being off all that time with a pulled abdominal muscle, I seem to be healing and rebounding fine.  

As I suspect, there are quite a few people gathered to "ride to the ride."  Many of them I don't know or only know superficially, but there are a few closer friends.  In the end, we are all happy to be there and happy to have this warmth to ride in.  There is the camaraderie that seems to happen when you have an unusually warm day in the midst of winter and people are going to be able to ride without being weighted down by winter clothing.  Even I, despite my propensity to overdress, have only knee warmers on with my shorts and no leggings.  Some are in shorts.  When in doubt or the weather is on the edge, I always chose to keep my knees warm.

As usual, I am not the fastest and not the slowest rider here today.  I struggle on the hills as I expect to, but it feels good, the way my thighs strain and burn and the way my lungs draw oxygen in and out searching for relief. A good friend recently told me that he notices aging mostly on the hills.  I would like to kid myself that this is not happening to him and won't happen to me, but since growing old is not optional and we do wear out, I become more determined to enjoy my current strength and age, to appreciate that I am out on a bicycle in early February and that I am climbing a hill.  I am so thankful that I have the health to be out here, and that while it hurts, to put one foot in front of the other until the task is completed and the hill is conquered. As I have told others, hills are our friends.  Like our true friends, they sometimes make us stretch outside of our comfort zones. 

There is just something about a good climb on a bicycle that you don't get riding on the flats.  Riding the flats at a fast pace can be very challenging.  It can hurt.  But it is a different hurt.  And the hills bring scenery that the flats never could.  I have heard people say that the club is leaning more and more toward flat city rides, and I believe that is probably true.  Do they, I wonder, know the loss that is inherent in that choice?  But of course each of us is different and one of the lovely things about cycling is that it is a very wide umbrella with myriad choices. 

At the last stop where we all regroup, the sun is shining and those of us who do not have short sleeved jerseys on are cursing our poor decision making skills, but still there is laughter and joking before we finish the last few miles back to Pope Lick park which I still think of as Floyd's Fork Park. John makes me laugh with his funny story about seeing bear scat in Alaska and how when they asked his daughter if it was scat, she replied that it was either bear scat or scat from someone who saw a bear.  The rain is supposed to begin tonight and the temperature to drop the following day, so I will hold close to this day until spring finally puts winter to bed.  I am glad the creator gave me the heart to enjoy this day and the ability to share it with others.  On a day like today, while I know I am not, at least in this earthly body, I feel immortal and thankful.  I believe God would approve.  

The Kentucky 200K Brevet 2013

"The most sacred place dwells within our heart, where dreams are 

born and secrets sleep, a mystical refuge of darkness and light,

 fear and conquest, adventure and discovery, challenge and 

 transformation. Our heart speaks for our soul every moment while 

we are alive. Listen... as the whispering beat repeats:

 be...gin, be...gin, be...gin.

 It's really that simple. Just begin... again. "
Royce Addington 

 Yet again it is the start of a new brevet season, and yet again the weather prediction will enhance the difficulties of starting the season rather than lightening the load.  It will be cold and there will be wind. But that, my friend, is what brevets are about, at least in Kentucky in early March:  defying weather and adversity unless the weather is downright dangerous, not just demanding.  Brevets are and should be demanding.  Otherwise what sense of accomplishment would there be.  Yet brevets also yield to different abilities, time limits are forgiving, and almost anyone with normal health can train and successfully complete a 200K.  

Steve Rice never disappoints with his Kentucky routes.  They are always demanding but beautiful. In a sense, the cold temperature prediction with no major variation in temperature makes things easier than if there were going to be a 10-20 degree temperature climb.  You can stay dressed the entire day the way you dress at the start of the ride with nothing to carry, no extra weight other than winter pounds that have not yet been ridden off, and no extra bag to take along to put things in.  The main challenge, of course, is dressing right to begin with so that you are not overly hot or overly cold.

It always interests me to listen to my heart the night before a brevet. Sometimes it is teeming with excitement and anticipation, but at other times there is dread and an empty, flat feeling as I question if I truly want to brave the road and the elements yet again and if I have prepared adequately.   This evening I am thrilled to find my heart anticipating the ride tomorrow: a new route, possibly some new roads, and some new challenges.  I sing softly to myself as I prepare my clothing, my lights,  and my bike so I can get out the door easily in the morning and give myself the maximum amount of sleep possible while still arriving timely. 

I suppose I will never understand why some days I relish the thought of the challenge and other days it is only  stern self-discipline and self-castigation that gets me out the door as I would much rather cower indoors and dream of spring.  Periodically those rides that I dread become a pleasure, but normally they are a mental training arena that helps me to accomplish goals I set for myself. On non brevet days I give myself permission to return home after 10 to 15 miles if I don't feel better, and normally I find myself enjoying myself once I have pushed myself out the door,  but not on brevet days. In the end it is as Mr. Addington says, you just need to begin. After all, who knows what adventure or drama will fill our day if we only get out the door. Or, as a friend recently reminded me, sometimes life is just about continuing to put one foot in front of the other. In a brevet it can sometimes be about just turning the crank over again and again.

When I arrive I realize how splendid it is to see familiar faces, some club members and some not.  I see friends less often in the winter as there are fewer rides.   It is also good to see faces I don't know, but may get to know in the future for every sport needs continual renewal to thrive. I can't think of any of these people that I would know if it were not for my bicycle.  We are brought together by our love of the bike and our admiration for endurance, the quality that has allowed mankind to survive throughout the ages.  Later today, however, I find that for me this ride is about getting the job done, not about lollygagging and establishing new friendships or nuturing old friendships.  I want to be in by dark. It is already cold, and with the setting of the sun it will grower colder still, and quite quickly I fear. I am dressed for day riding, not riding throughout the chilled night.

For three riders, it will be their first brevet:  Steve Meredith, Ted King, and Andrew Thai. I know Ted and Steve, but I do not know Andrew. All three are successful despite the fact that  Steve Meredith had surgery on his hand earlier in the week and is unable to wear a glove.  He improvises with a wool sock, and I think of how he often reminds me of my husband, perhaps because they both grew up in the country and know the wisdom of how to make do when necessary, the backbone of this country.  People huddle in the registration motel room,  chattering and catching up.  Smiles and yawns mingle, but as always anticipation snakes through the room. Steve Rice, the RBA, always designs such beautiful courses.  Yes, they are challenging, but that is part of the satisfaction of completing the Kentucky series, the feeling that you have met and conquered a challenge. And each of us has dragged ourselves out of a warm bed into the frigid air to begin our quest.

24 start and 22 finish.  Jody and Steve appear to be the only tandem riders.  Currently they are on their old tandem, but soon they will have a beautiful new custom tailored tandem designed by Alex Meade, another brevet rider.  Because the ride starts at 7:00 a.m. the light is only hesitatingly making her appearance at the ride start,  hiding behind clouds, tenuous and shy, maidenlike  in her reluctance.  I intend to finish before dark, so I do not have my hub generator.  Steve gives a brief talk and requests that anyone who decides to throw in the towel call so that he does not have to worry about them, and then we begin.  Bicycles spill down the drive and into the street with an assortment of lights and bags and riders.  

I am not sure who, if anyone, I will ride with today.  I briefly consider trying to hold onto Steve Rice, Bill Pustow, and Mark Rougeux, but they soon pull ahead.  One thing I have learned about brevets is that you must ride at your own pace so I do not stress about it. Trying to hold that pace could mean bonking later.  It is best to plan and be successful.  I can always speed up at the end if I have it in me.  While the days are longer, the course will be hilly so this means no loitering at controls if I am to reach my goal of finishing before night again claims the land,  particularly as I know my pace will be a relatively slow one.  I have been able to maintain my endurance by century rides on the week-ends, but my new job has prevented my riding much through the week and I am not the speediest of riders at the best of times anymore.  The loss of week day miles combined with additional weight gain from the winter could spell disaster if I don't use common sense and ride my own pace. 

From the start the wind bites my face, and while it is milder and gentler than it can be, it is still biting and I have learned to have great respect for the wind.  The wind endlessly reminds me of my own puny, weakness unless we are busy being, as my friend, Greg, says, tailwind heroes..   I think of a quote by Arthur Golden, "Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are." A person has lots of time for self contemplation on a windy brevet day. The wind impedes progress in one direction, but as importantly at times it also impedes conversation.  After riding one particularly windy brevet with Grasshopper and Bill Pustown, I remember feeling I would go mad if the sound of the wind did not stop assaulting my hearing, ceaselessly thrumming, as if she were whispering secrets that I lacked the understanding to grasp. 

Despite the monotone grayness of the landscape, I see the potential for flowers, green leaves, and color.  This will be a beautiful course in places once spring pirouettes in and waves her wand laying winter to rest.  The first control is at the top of a long descent, and despite my quick stop I begin to chill.  Another rider wishes to stay with me, but I am unable to stop the shivering and know that I need to move on.  As I do the normally lovely descent down Devil's Hollow, I quiver violently on the bike to the point where I am a tad concerned about steering,  and I think to myself how unfair it is to be uncomfortable on a down hill.  Winter has turned things backwards, and rather than anticipating a descent, I am anticipating a climb.  

I ride with Larry Preble and Steve Royse for a short bit until our rhythms no longer match, and then we each begin our individual, solitary marches to the finish.  Adding to the wind, it now begins to snow, flakes swirling wildly along with the wind.  They begin to cover the ground, but the road remains too warm for the snow to stick.  I consider what I will do if that changes and hope that my daughter doesn't have some plan that would cause her not to be able to rescue me.   For awhile I contemplate the wonder of having a daughter, and I take a moment to thank God for the blessings he has bestowed on me.  Some people want children so badly but are never blessed, others don't want them but have them anyway and don't treat them right.  I wanted children, and I was blessed, but I am sure I made many parenting errors.  I hope they will forgive me.  But whatever mistakes I have made, I have always loved them.   

 For a short time I am drawn backwards in time in that strange way that riding alone encourages and I remember the softness of their skin and their freshly bathed smell as we cuddled before bedtime to read and enter another world. I think of what I would give to go backward for awhile, but such is not the nature of life.  As Joni Mitchell said, "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone?"  And God made  parents young with good reason.  I am about 4-5 miles outside the turn around control when the first group passes me, waving and grinning and bringing me back to the present. I remind myself that one day I will remember this brevet and that I need to appreciate it and my current health and strength that allows me to participate.  This is one thing I like about brevets and riding alone:  I never know what direction my mind may take off in.  Sometimes I am miles down the road and realize I have not noticed anything outside of my own head.

At the turn around control, I  shamelessly eavesdrop as the lady at the cash register talks about the store being put on the auction block the next week.  She believes there will be two bidders.  Her continuing employment is contingent on one of the bidders being successful as the other bidder is a large chain and has already told them they have their own staff.  When I reach the register, I question her about it and sympathize with her uncertainty at the possible loss of a job.  Later I will think about how often I complain about my job and workings, and what a blessing it is to have employment.  I make a mental note to e-mail Steve Rice so that he knows.  It would be hard to reach that control on the 300K or the 400K and find it is closed for remodeling.

 After the turn around, the snow hardens into biting pellets, sleet-like, that sting as they hit my face driven by what seems to be an ever increasing wind.   I trudge stoically onward vowing to bow out if my tires begin to slip on the road.  At Wallace Station, the ground has a light covering, and this would be a good place to stop if I have to stop as they have wonderful food, but I test my tires and they appear to hold stolidly to the road.  When I reach the next to last control following the long climb back up Devil's Hollow, Bill Pustown and Mark are pulling out and I say a brief hello before heading inside to get my card signed and a  quick snack.  By now the snow flakes have softened yet again, and float lazily along with the wind, beautiful in their own, stark way.

I pull into the last control as Mark is leaving in his car.  The motel has a short, steep section right as you pull into it, and my legs complain at this last little bit of effort despite my reassurance that they have served me well and will be given the rest they deserve.  Susan Howell, Steve Rice, and Blueberry are there to greet me.  I am glad to be done, and after a bit of chatting head homeward lured by the thought of a warm, scented bath and a book and a warm bed.  Today's journey has been completed successfully.  Thank you, Mr. Rice, for a challenging course.  Thank you, Mr. Pustow, for marking the course.  And congratulations to the new brevet finishers:  Steve, Ted, and Andrew.  May you find the gratification from completing a challenging task that I have found, both now and in the future.  

 

 

Thoughts on a Snowy Morning

I weary of winter in her grayness, silver tendrils of ice encompassing the earth, thrusting themselves through cracks and crevices in sides of hills,  holding color at bay.....almost as if life pauses.  Even water with all its fluidity is stopped dead in her tracks, at least temporarily. Good intentions fade in the sternness of her argentate gaze, laziness becomes a norm rather than an aberration.  Scant relief is found in the rare sunny day, pallid and forlorn,  a mockery of summer warmth, a shadow upon Plato's wall.  It always strikes me as odd how something that is so beautiful when it is new soon loses it beauty when it impacts action.

It is on days like this, when I am mentally imprisoned by snow and ice, that I begin to long for Texas and Hell Week.   It is on days like this that I despair of ever being able to ride the normal 600-700 miles that we ride while we are there.  Yet somehow, it always works out.  For those who don't know, Hell Week is a week long bicycle ride that takes place in the spring in Fredericksburg, Texas.

My friends are more dedicated than I using trainers or being retired and getting in miles during the week, but they make adjustments for me.   I have quit vowing to use the trainer knowing that I am lying to myself for I will not,or will not very often.  It is on days like this that  I long for a fat bike that would allow me to get out safely despite the snow.  It is just hard to justify the expense, and despite his support, to explain to my husband why I would need yet another bike.  But bikes are like children, each is different and has her own charm and talents.  It is just too hard to explain to someone who does not ride. 

I think of how each year Hell Week is a bit different, but each year it has enriched my life.  In my memory, the time shimmers with laughter and warmth, and I would not take back and re-do the time, even the year I rode with the broken rib chasing Greg and Joe up hillson the brevet after Steve turned back due to a mechanical, unable to stand to climb as the pain became too great.  I think of tacos and steak nights and vistas that take my breath away with their stern beauty.  I think of being out of breath as I do my best to pedal fast enough to keep up or to climb a hill that challenges me to persevere. And somehow, in these thoughts, knowing I will most likely be going again, I am renewed.  I realize that Chekhov was right when he said: "Let us learn to appreciate that there will be times when the trees will be bare, and look forward to the time when we may pick the fruit."

This wintry day will pass, and it would serve me well to thank her and appreciate her beauty, for it is the contrast that makes Hell Week and the other seasons shine like diamonds.  Snow on!  I will clean my house and curl up with a cat, a book, and a cup of tea.  I will dream of Hell Week.